


Song to Say Goodbye

by heijihatsutori



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ, JYJ - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, M/M, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 18:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1437676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heijihatsutori/pseuds/heijihatsutori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a castle deep hidden in the forest. They said it is only visible once on a shadow night of autumn. If you saw the castle and were invited in, refuse it and never speak of it. But if the Puppet Prince himself called on you, never ever reject the offer. Or you will be rejected of your own soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Song to Say Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Placebo's Song to Say Goodbye](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ea4IEQoWO9c).

 

_Tell me of a story_   
_Never ever told in the past_   
_Take me back to the land_   
_Where my yearnings were born  
_

There is a castle deep hidden in the forest.  
They said it is only visible once on a shadow night of autumn.  
If you saw the castle and were invited in, refuse it and never speak of it.  
But, if the Puppet Prince himself called on you, never ever reject the offer.

Or you will be rejected of your own soul.

*******

 

_Pretending not to know about tomorrow, riding on a well-made fake airship  
My sun that won’t be calm, won’t shine after three hundred miles_

  
From afar, the wind blows, as if it is a signal that someone is coming.

          Walking down the road, with only a simple case too small to call a luggage, a young man walks on towards this small town, his shadow casts on long on the empty road. His smile is warm against his pale complexion, and his fingers are long as he wipes the beads of sweat trickling down the face. With deep voice, and polite expression, he introduces himself as a traveler, and asking if may find a place to stay for awhile, to which the old man at the inn happily welcomes him in, despite the traveler having no penny for his name.

          Surrounded by thick, deep forest, to say that this town is somewhat hidden is quite an understatement. Small population means everybody knows each other here, and any trace of news can be spread across town in less than a day. Soon enough, people flocks by the inn, to hear stories from places faraway, for the traveler sure has a lot of them to tell, or simply just to catch even a glimpse of him, for an outsider to visit is something that happens as often as a blue moon.

          When night comes, the man will walk on slowly on the road, taking in the cold, fresh air before settles under the big tree by the main road, and plays soft, melancholic songs that ring away, the bow dancing intimately with the dark colored violin.

          His songs are beautiful, mystical even, but somehow, the song that night is different, each note carries with them a lump of emotions that it never fails to earn gushes of praises from his audience, as well as tears. The tune tugs at the heart, and ever so slightly, there is a distant in the black eyes of the traveler. His soft, silent smile as he bows after each song seems frail, and it breaks the people as effective as his songs, for it seems like he is dying a little inside with each song, and holding back his own tears as well.

          Once, a small girl asked, in between tears herself, why did he play such a sad song. The answer is not one people can guess.

          “So that people can let go and cry, something I could not do on my own,”

          He smiles, ever so softly, as usual, as he reaches over to wipe away the girl’s tears.

          “…for I am but a guilty man who shouldn’t even be basking under the sun.”

          The next day, the man is gone, a simple letter left on the desk of an empty room. The fact that is was _that_ letter caused a cry of uproar on that small town, and the old man in the inn to weep in sorrow, praying for the safety of the nice traveler. It is an invitation to the castle in the forest, one that haunts the nights and creeps in the day of the townspeople come autumn each year.

          The invitation to the ball held for the Puppet Prince.

*******

_So you sailed away  
Into a grey sky morning_

  
          There is a ball, held at the castle each year.

          The party is magnificent; for that is anyone can come and enjoy, regardless of status, appearance, nor title. It is a night in which everyone is the same, and the entire food and dance floor is all yours to take.

          Given that you can come in, that is.

          Legend has it that something had happened in the past, and that the castle and all the people had vanished into thin air one night, no longer in sight. People had been searching for it high and low, to every crook and inch of the forest, to no avail. As days and months passed, all hope has lost, and people mourned the lost ones, as well as the castle and its owners and people.  
  
            Till come one night in autumn. From deep forest, the sound of laughter and music reaches the town, slowly yet surely, carried away by the wind. Intrigued, there are people that go over to it, despite the ominous feeling shrouding the atmosphere. And slowly, quietly, the footsteps of those people disappear altogether, engulfed in the darkness.

          Nobody but one came out of the forest.

          The man, with emptiness in the eyes, and a small case on one hand and something akin to a letter on the other, never spoke of anything that happened, except for a phrase, which he uttered with an indescribable tone; The Puppet Prince. The man later gone from the town, and never seen again.

          Since then, rumors spread that the ball at the castle still continues until now, and come autumn night, people will keep to themselves and avoid the forest. From time to time, there are one people that came back from the forest, one that received the invitation letter. Words of wisdom were said in order to warn the later generations and eventually years and decades passed by, watching as the town itself become smaller with people moving out and not returning back, leaving the old traditions and place frozen in time.

          He exhales and watches the kids staring at the hourglass in front of him, clearly losing the interest to hear more and remembered the traveler who had been listening intently to the story. There was a lack of reaction, much to his amusement, but then he might have heard a bit about it before he came here, the old man reasons.

          The autumn wind may blows freely again, but as it brings the soft music to lull him to sleep, he is happy to trick himself to think that he can hear the soft violin of the man instead of the forests’ music, softly, and surely, as he drifts away to sleep.

          Little that he know, he might not be wrong in thinking so.

*******

_The sun goes down  
I feel the light betray me_

  
         The forest is deep, and there is no definite path for him to walk. Still, he continues on, wandering on, the violin case bumping against him in an almost rhythmic way that he has to stop himself from bursting into a song or something, and considering the situation and setting; it is not funny.

          He had heard from the old man about the legend, and to say that he feels nostalgic may be an understatement, but as he is now, he can only walk on, the sun shines above him and some of the light reaches the floor of the forest, which he only glares from a corner of his eye. For a forest to be this dead quiet it is almost creepy, the stillness of it pricks at his skin, and each steps he take rings as loud as his heart, hammering inside his chest. Even the wind blows in silence, almost unnoticeable. Still he walks on, until he finds a big tree and decides to rest for awhile.

          Living as a traveler has humbled him over the years, and he admits that he might just be a better person now compare to before, yet the life he is living never makes him happy, and whenever he sees a celebration, he will feel so sick inside, its twisting in the gut and punches him mercilessly, swallowing him whole.

          So he never stays at one place, always on the move; avoiding people, crowd, and cities. When he feels like it, he will play songs with the violin, sometimes to comfort himself, sometimes to earn a bit of money for random stuffs, or simply to make sure that he would not forget the melody. He cannot afford to forget, he can never do so, and he is content with that. So he hugs the case, his only companion along this long, long journey, and embraces the sleepiness that hangs at his eyes, welcoming the darkness.

          He is always a night person ever since he can remember anyways.

*******

_In the land of misery I'm searching for the sign_   
_To the door of mystery and dignity_

  
          The rustle of leaves and footsteps jolts him awake, and he is greeted with a sight of moon on the dark sky, which calms him almost immediately. Instinctively he grabs hold of the violin case and stands up, only to bump into a figure in the dark. Shocked, he proceeds with caution, and finds himself face to face with a man -or is it a woman? He cannot really tell- wearing a half-mask covering the face.          

          “Are you going to the ball?”

          The low voice echoed around him, giving the gender away as he nods to the man, a cold hand pulling him up to a standing position. He can see well now that his eyes has adjusted to the dark and judging from the appearance, the man is heading to the same place too.

          So they walked together, the moon light treads path in front of them and he can see a lot more people now, walking all over the place in a lot of direction, wandering around, each with a searching look on their faces. The appearances varied greatly, suits, cloaks, masks, simple, dresses; one look and he can tell they are all actually have one place in mind -the castle. He feels a tug in his heart and lowers his eyes; going straight on his path, the man from before has gone on a different way, the hand which the person touches before feel awfully cold it is numb to his side.

          In the dark forest with everywhere and nowhere to go, he steels himself and walks on, straining his ears for the slightest trace of music and squinting for the faintest of light. Unlike all these people, after all, he knows the castle well, so well he can see it in his mind every time he closes his eyes; the sight haunts him till this very moment.

          So when he finally hears the sound and sees the light, he feels his legs trembling as he walks on closer, the amazing gate stood proudly open, wide enough for everyone to come. He can feel his eyes blurry and there is a snap of twig on his left foot and-

          What time is it now? He never makes sense of time, for him it is either night or day, knowing the specifics is irrelevant, especially when all he does is walk around anyways.

          He can see the light faints away and there is a pang of déjà vu. Slowly, the castle starts to fade, the cold wall becomes transparent into nothingness and as time ticks away he stands there, motionless, his heart breaks into pieces. There is a faint light in the sky, dusk is coming.

          For a moment he can see the inside of the castle, the people dancing away, the music played, and the food on the table by the side of the hall. It is just like before, nothing has changed at all.

          And he can see him, standing in front of the throne, staring straight at him on the face as their eyes meet halfway.

          It took him all of his willpower not to breakdown and cry at the sight.

          He does not have the right to do so, not after what he did.

          Not after he made him the Puppet Prince.

*******

_I can barely recall, it was gone with the wind_   
_But it's all coming back to me now_

 

          There was a ball, held at the castle that year.

            The party was magnificent; for that was anyone can come and enjoy, regardless of status, appearance, nor title. It was a night in which everyone was the same, and the entire food and dance floor was all yours to take.

          For it was a ball for the prince.

          At the nearby town, there was a young man with a smile so bright it can rival the sun. Each day, he will wander around doing odd jobs or simply goofing along, to the amusement of the townspeople. The man, loved by people, plays violin a lot, and is talented enough to be invited to play during the ball. Ecstatic, he practices each day by the forest, the sound of the violin rings across the area, swept away by the wind, attracting people from afar.

          “That was very lovely.”

          Startled, the man turns around, and sees another man about his age leaning against the tree. In his casual clothes, the prince looks just like any other man in his twenties, and the violinist, oblivious as he is, totally mistook him as a commoner.

          Just like that, somehow, the two become friends and meets at the place each passing day. The prince, having interest in violin but never really had the opportunity learnt how to play, all the while listening to various kinds of story about the life in the town, and the places the violinists had the chance of visiting. By each passing time, too, the prince grows to envy his friend for his carefree life.

          This came to the notice of a witch, who lives at the outskirts of the town.

          “I can help you, Your Highness.”

          The words of the witch are sweet, so sweet it hides the poison effectively.

          “In exchange, I will have to take something from you.”

          The prince, being controlled by his feelings, agrees readily.

          “You can have anything you want.”

          And the witch smiles, hidden underneath the black cloak.

          “I will hold on to those words, then.”

*******

 _My usual days burst_  
The day you and the sun died  
  
  
          The night of the ball came soon enough, and the prince watches as people filled up the place. The music is playing, the people is dancing; the food is on the side of the hall. It is a masquerade ball, so everyone is wearing a mask of sort, including the prince himself. He is playing the violin, having asked his friend to trade places for a while. The violinists, too shocked to find out he had actually befriended the prince agrees, standing by the throne, in the prince outfit, which suits him just well, to the relief of the both of them.

          The ball goes on along the night, and everybody is happy until the prince realizes that his clock has stopped moving. Confused, he proceeds to talk to his friend, only to be blocked by the witch, who smiles sweetly at him.

          “I’m here to take the castle, Your Highness.”

          The prince stood motionless, his lips dry.

          “As you wished, I’ve stopped your time, as well as everybody’s in the castle. This way, you can remain a commoner with your friend here as a prince. You can go out and be anywhere you want but here.”

          He turns at the violinists, who stare at his own clock as well.

          “Your Highness, the sun may no longer rise here. Please, if you may, say goodbye.”

          He falls on his knees, as the weight of reality sinks in.

          “Leave, until you no longer wishes to be anywhere but remain here.”

          The coldness of the voice sends shiver down his spine, and the violinists –no, that person is the prince now, _he_ is the violinists- stares at him blankly, face devoid of any emotion.

          He is like a puppet, a Puppet Prince.

          The more he think about it the more it hits him how lifeless that person becomes and he looks around him only to realize that people are still dancing, still enjoying, without a care of this world. He is trembling, so hard, but he knows that he has to leave; he cannot stay here any longer, guilt and regret welling up inside. No matter what, he is, was, the prince. He has pride, too, even though, even when it hurts.

          Grabbing the violin, so hard it hurts, it hurts, and it _hurts_ , he walked on, out of the hall, out of the castle, out of the gate. He makes it in point not to turn back, in fear of breaking down, and only do so when his legs hit the ground.

          He turns just in time to see the castle fade, the cold wall becomes transparent into nothingness and as time ticks away he stands there, motionless, he can hear the sound of his heart breaking into pieces.

          There is a faint light in the sky, dusk is coming.

          Yet he cannot feel the warmth of the light.

          As if the sun has died on him.

*******

_There were moments of gold  
And there were flashes of light_

  
          He remains there, thinking that the castle will appears again tonight at the same place. Of course, there is no guarantee about that, but he is willing to bet everything on it. He is impossibly alone, like the day before, and it occurred to him that all those people that wandering about must have gone out of the castle somehow, or entered it at some point of time, and get caught up with the curse, too.

          He might have somewhat solve a bit of mystery, perhaps, but it does not make him happy, even in the slightest bit. If anything, it manages to make him feel bitterer about the whole ordeal.

          Still, he knows he is in the wrong, and he is ready to bow and confess everything now, no matter the consequence. He had wandered for so long, it took him a year just to come out of the forests, if the legend that the inn owner told him holds true, that is, he had forgotten almost everything after he walked out of the castle, and it had been decades, and maybe centuries? He does not know anymore.

          He had enough of walking on the Earth, and seeing people dying, knowing he cannot.

          As he lies down on the cold ground, he stares at the direction of the sun, imprinting the view in his mind. Slowly he closes his eyes, saying goodbye to the day sky. True to his thoughts, he wakes up to the sight of the full moon, and the castle in front of him. It took his five seconds to really snap out of it and he stands up, donning the mask, and makes way to the gate.

          His legs are wobbly, and he can feel his heart beating madly, but he takes each steps confidently, as befitting as a prince. He may hesitates for a second at the hall entrance, but the nostalgia pushes him inside, and as he makes way to the musician area, he throws a glance to the Puppet Prince, who stares back.

          Still, he cannot make any sense of the blank stare, so he picks up the violin, and plays.

          He closes his eyes because he does not want to see what happens, and also because he simply wants to play. He plays one song, and the next, and the next. Memories washes over him like a shore, from one moment to another, that he does not even realize that he is crying.

          Until a hand gently touches his face and wipes them away.

          He opens his eyes to see the prince –his friend, not the Puppet Prince, no- in front of him, smiling gently.

          “Your Highness, welcome back.”

          The music starts again, and even in the confusion, his hand continue playing; a sad song, which he played at the town before he entered the forests. He never knows the title of the song, and he never really learn it or something, but for some reason, he knows it, and plays it.

          He watches as slowly, the people stops dancing and hanging about, empty plates remain on the table, and the music fades softly, as the musician retires. Most importantly, the clock at the wall has moved, and it is nearing daybreak. The guests make way to leave, not before greeting them, which makes him wonder which of them is really the prince to the people now? Not like he really cares about that anymore.

          The ball is ending. And that is what matters. Nothing else matters.

*******

 _Sleep, my beloved_  
Your soul continues  
  
  
           From afar, the wind blows, as if it is a signal that something is ending.

          That evening, a young man of the town who had gone into the forest came back with news; that the castle no longer disappears. Of course, it caused uproar among the people and the old man at inn included. Together, they enter the forests and true enough; the castle stays there, in its glory, withstanding the test of time. There is nobody to be found though, except for clothes, and masks, scattered all over in the forest as well as in the castle itself. Spider webs are everywhere yet the furniture and all are still there, old, yet unchanging, like the castle itself.

          The people had gathered and decided to leave the castle and all the stuffs inside as it is, and depending on how it looks it might become a national treasure, as the news travel fast and shocked the whole nation. The town is different now, with people coming and become livelier each day. The old man at the inn is still trying to get used to handling a lot of customer in one time.

          But, if there is one thing that the townspeople kept as secret among themselves, it is about the portrait at the hall which is believed to held the yearly ball in the past; a portrait of the prince that the last ball was intended for. The people do not hide the portrait, no. It is still hung there at the hall, by the throne. They just hides the fact that there are actually two portraits, a man found it out by accident and decides to kept it hidden, in a secret chamber beside the throne.

          The portrait shows the prince, with another man holding a violin, smiling brightly.

          Beside the portrait is the said violin, along with the case. Also, nobody mentioned that the prince looked exactly like the traveler that disappears, who also possessed the aforementioned violin, simply because nobody feels the need to.

          It is not their place to say anything.

          It is a story whispered by the autumn wind.

          That may fly forever to a faraway land.

          Softly, and gently, like a song.

          It is fleeting away.

*******

For my dream, the days of bliss  
That I met you in this place  
I give thanks  
Forever...

_I drift along without capturing them_   
_Let's put an end to it peacefully_   
_With your karma_   
_Good night  
_

 


End file.
